


Eyes Dilate

by pavloverly, TrohmansMelodies



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Happy Ending, M/M, if fighting over mental illnesses makes u sad then u shouldnt read, literally no beta, the tense is all fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 12:55:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13458720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pavloverly/pseuds/pavloverly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrohmansMelodies/pseuds/TrohmansMelodies
Summary: "We just released an album, we're on tour, and you want to write another album?" Patrick could barely contain his frustration."No, it's not that, I've just got more lyrics that I think we could turn into music--""Can it, Pete! I'm sick of this! I'm sick of everything! We're constantly on the road, and you want me to come up with more songs to find a melody that matches your narcotic-fuelled, self-deprecating words?" He stood deathly still, his words were sharp and punctual, eyes ablaze with lack of sleep and unrestrained anger.





	Eyes Dilate

**Author's Note:**

> started in early 2016!! enjoy

Joe and Andy stepped out of the bus as soon as they could sense Pete and Patrick needed some time to settle their spat. Everyone in the vicinity of Patrick knew that the short man was capable of firing scalding words. He was known for his sweet personality and his fiery temper. As soon as you had him worked up, there would be no telling when he would calm down. And when he was in the mood to fight, he was in the mood to pin someone to the nearest vertical surface and let them know what he really thought of them.

"We just released an album, we're on tour, and you want to write another album?" Patrick could barely contain his frustration.

"No, it's not that, I've just got more lyrics that I think we could turn into music--"

"Can it, Pete! I'm sick of this! I'm sick of everything! We're constantly on the road, and you want me to come up with more songs to find a melody that matches your narcotic-fuelled, self-deprecating words?" He stood deathly still, his words were sharp and punctual, eyes ablaze with lack of sleep and unrestrained anger. Patrick stepped forward into Pete's space as the slightly taller man cowered back. Patrick left no room for space between the two of them as he yelled at Pete. "The only thing that keeps you from jumping out of every window you pass are those little half-moon pills you seem to be in love with! You never take the correct dosage, either too much or too little! You're always locking yourself away when I ask if I can help, and it upsets me and makes me pretty damn furious when you don't tell me what's wrong, as if I'm nobody to you! Like I'm unimportant! Like you've been pretending to love the all-too-chubby lead singer as a person for the last six years, so you can piss off when you achieve the desired amount of fame! As if I'm… not anything to you, not anymore…" The blond's voice cracked toward the end with pain, clearly visible in his eyes, as he searched Pete's face for a flicker of emotion, anything. Pete didn’t look at Patrick, his face was blank. Pete stepped backwards, away from his best friend, then hung his head and supported his weight on the kitchen counter surface.

It took a couple minutes (or maybe years) for Pete to retaliate. He responded with an edge to his words, sentences just as quick, gaining the upper-hand with a well-placed blow. "I'm sorry I can't fix your fucking problems, Patrick! I'm sorry I can't fix your self-esteem! I'm sorry that my approval isn't good enough for you to think better of yourself!” Patrick had his mouth open, ready to fire another sentence right back, but he found himself shutting his mouth before he could make things worse. The fire in his eyes remained.

"I'm sorry," Pete apologises. "I'm just gonna go and lie in my bunk."

Patrick's eyes soften and he uncrosses his arms as Pete swiftly moved his feet along the floor of the bus. His demeanour suggested that he suspected he was the cause of all of his friend's problems. No matter how true it may be that Pete was the source some of his issues, Patrick would take a bullet for Pete. He's not entirely sure if Pete believed Patrick would give his life for a “fucked up, pill-addicted maniac”, - Pete’s words, not his. It's no secret that they both love each other. Either one would die for each other just to ensure the other wouldn’t be hurt in any form. Despite all the pain they put each other through, Patrick couldn't help being worried about Pete. He knew what it was like in his mind.

He really hadn't meant to spit venom like that. It was just the undeniable fact that he was tired. Hell, they were all exhausted, but Patrick really let it get to him. He couldn't blame Pete - he could _never_ blame Pete - for what had just happened, or for all the fights like this that have happened in the past.

Patrick's thoughts halted to the sound of ripping paper. Underneath the dry sound of tearing Pete was mumbling to himself, soft and shallow intakes of breath affecting his mantra of one single word: 'useless'. Patrick reached out and drew the bunk curtains back. There he found Pete hunched over pages ripped in half, a couple of his lyric books thrown towards the end of the bed with the pages torn out, words cut off halfway through a sentence, where his friend’s thoughts had been jotted onto paper.

Patrick couldn’t think of anything to say. He cleared a space on the foot of the bed for himself and gingerly sat down, looking at Pete through his bangs. Pete didn’t look up, just let out a shuddering sigh. He stopped his soft muttering long enough to lock eyes with Patrick, before he brought his legs up to his chest and let his head fall onto his knees. Patrick was lost for words, torn between wanting to comfort his friend and wanting to dart off the bus to clear his head of what he’d just said aloud.

Patrick tentatively reached out with one hand, placing his hand on Pete’s knee. He gently shook it, and Pete looked up, green-flecked brown eyes watering. Patrick leaned in and wrapped his arms around Pete’s shoulders, suffocating him in a hug. Patrick felt warm arms wrap around his torso as Pete pressed his head into his chest, scooting forward into his lap.

He took a deep breath, formulating his next words. “Pete, I’m sorry,” He rocked backwards and forwards with his friend in his arms. “Doesn’t make the situation any better, and I’m sorry for what I said to you,” Patrick heard a little sniffle come from Pete before he felt him open his mouth against his chest to speak.

“It’s okay Patrick, I’m fine. I got worked up about it, you don’t need to apologise.” He warily returns the hug.

“No, no, don’t put the blame on yourself, I’m the one who started yelling.” He put his chin on Pete’s head, “You got no one to blame but me.” He continued rocking backwards and forwards, trying to calm Pete down before he started freaking out.

Pete leaned back a little, wiping his tears on the cuff of his hoodie. “It’s okay. I’m tired and I haven’t slept any fucking hours on this bus. I wanna get to a hotel soon to crash.”

“Try sleeping now, alright? You’ll feel more clear-headed if you get enough rest.” He leaned into Pete just that little bit more, letting him know he was there. A solid and sure weight for Pete to depend on. Thankfully, Pete hadn’t let go of the hug yet.

“Mm.. don’t wanna.” He pushed his head further into Patrick’s shirt, refusing to move. “You’re comfortable. Could stay here for a while…” His speech started to slur slightly.

“Okay, so since you don’t want to sleep, how about we talk now instead of me leaving you alone and pretending this never happened the next day?” Patrick dropped his chin onto Pete’s head. “Like, talk. The stuff you hate doing but is necessary.” Pete protested with a groan of disapproval.

“I’ll have to pass, actually.” Even if Pete wasn’t looking at Patrick he could feel the man’s stare when he moved his head and looked down at the top of Pete’s head. He turned his head against Patrick’s chest to look up at him. “I can just talk to the therapist over the phone about it.”

“I know you won’t.” Patrick looked at him pleadingly, resting a hand against his back.

“What if I promise?”

“You always complain about breaking promises.” Patrick remained light hearted, although feeling worried for Pete’s state of mind. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. Honestly. Do you want to talk at all?” Patrick really wanted to talk to Pete, even if the older man felt differently.

“..Not really.” Pete looked tired as he closed his eyes again and shifted away from Patrick to rest his head on his lap.

Patrick remained thoughtful, even when Pete had almost outright denied their chance to talk.

“If we talk for at least five minutes, I’ll do one thing for you. No questions asked.” He threaded a hand through Pete’s hair, scratching lightly. Pete perked up slightly when he heard Patrick’s proposition. “Nothing too irrational, though. I know what you might be thinking.”

Pete was thinking for a way to get something out of Patrick’s suggestion. “Alright, only if it’s for two minutes. Is that okay?” Pete attempted to bargain.

“That’s the thing. To make it fair for you, however long we spend talking is equivalent to however long I spend doing what you want.”

Pete closed his eyes and considered his options. After an odd thirty seconds, he opened his eyes. “Fine. five minutes.” He attempted to smile at Patrick, but it fell short.

“What’s wrong, Pete?” Patrick queries, hand over Pete’s on the bedsheets. “And I don’t want to hear that “oh I’ll talk it through with my therapist” kinda shit, I wanna know what’s really going on in that mind of yours. I want to know if you’re okay and what I can do to help. It’s the least I can do...” He shrugged, words trailing off.

Patrick can tell this is making Pete uncomfortable. His nervous darting eyes and neck-scratching tell Patrick that this is not a nice situation to be in for the older man. Pete’s constantly clearing his throat, pulling his hand away to fidget with his fingers, looking at his Peter Pan tattoo and seemingly paying nothing else attention at all. As his fingers twirl around each-other, he becomes increasingly aware that Patrick expected a response.

“Well, when I don’t talk it through it goes into lyrics to keep food on the table for us,” Pete nervously laughs aloud, looking into Patrick’s stern yet worried eyes.

“If you talk it through with someone other than a licensed professional, I’m sure it’d make you feel better. Talk it out with me, maybe?” Patrick’s head was racing. What if Pete didn’t trust him? What if he was just using him to sing his words, to manipulate him on stage with his severe lack of knowledge about personal space? What if he was using him to get a reaction out of him? What if-

“Okay, I’m not too sure where to start.” Pete’s voice cutting through the silence forces the blond out of his thoughts. Pete looks away, as if ashamed of his choice of words, despite not even talking much, “But whenever I walk into my therapist’s room, I collapse and cry into my hands. So, I’m hoping that won’t be the case this time.” He flashes his asshole grin, the Wentz Trademark.

“Even if that _does_ become the case, I’ll still listen.” He retakes Pete’s hand into his, stroking his flesh with his thumb and using his best comforting smile, squeezing Pete’s hand. A gesture they’ve always used for eachother. _I’m here_.

Imitating the rhythm of a heartbeat, he squeezes Pete’s hand four times, then threads their fingers together tightly. He refused to let go. Pete needed him. He needed Pete. They were a constant in each others’ lives. Patrick could honestly say this; if he had never met Pete, he would have well and truly been dead by the age of twenty-one. If Pete had never met him, he’d meet the same fate, dead in a bathroom with pills strewn across the floor in both of their twenties. Realistically, Patrick didn’t believe in soulmates. If a universe existed where you were destined to meet the one true love of your life, Pete and Patrick would have been a perfect match. This was shared knowledge among the pair, even if Patrick reluctantly admitted it. Pete was constantly in frantic outbursts exclaiming _“You’re my fuckin’ soulmate, ‘Trick!”_. In situations like those, Patrick could only crack a smile. Here, in Pete’s bunk, thinking about this very fact made Patrick’s heart race. Maybe Pete was right. He could make Pete’s belief work, just this once.

“Patrick, I love you, you know that?” Pete pulls him in for a hug. “You always know what to say to me at the worst of times just to make me feel slightly less alone.” Pete’s voice breaks, and Patrick feels tears dampening his shirt. “Thank you so much - f-for putting up with me, for being there for me at the worst of times, for listening, for being my best fuckin’ friend, god, possibly the only thing anchoring me to even fuckin’ living, dude.” Pete’s hugs were always warm and soft, despite him being all fucking _bones_. Patrick melted right into his touch, Pete practically dragging him to sit on his lap.

“Pete, I-” Patrick tries to pull away, yet is pulled back in by Pete, right back into Pete’s embrace. His home away from home. His home.

“As much as it scares me to say this, Patrick, without you, I’d probably be dea-” He tries to finish the sentence yet is cut off by his own sobs, choking off his breath. “It’s so fuckin’ scary to think about it, me being dead, even though it’s what I’ve wanted for so long, it’s just so terrifying and you’re the only thing that has ever made it feel better. Probably the only thing that _will_ make it feel better and I’m so grateful you’re in my life and I’m sorry I’m such a jackass-” He is crudely interrupted by his own sobs once again. “You’re the only thing that m-matters to me.” He chokes and stutters over his own words. “W-without you, there’s n-no me, and it’s not healthy but at the same time I love it, I love being attached to you, I love you, I love you, I-” This time, Pete is not able to recover from his sobs and fully gives into the emotions that are being hurled at him over his realisations.

All Patrick can do is hold the man who is crying on his shoulder, and mull over the confessions Pete has given. He holds Pete tight, desperately trying to keep his shuddering body together with his arms. It felt like Pete’s breaking point. If Patrick was being honest, he felt Pete’s heart speed up when he told Patrick he loved him. Whether it was wishful thinking or not, his heart involuntarily sped up too. He hoped Pete couldn’t feel the pounding in his chest.

Deciding to switch positions, Patrick detached himself from his best friend (much to his mumbling protests) and sat behind Pete’s back on the bunk wall, legs splayed open for him to sit between. He pet the empty space, Pete scooting up to lay his head back on Patrick’s chest. He was still slightly hiccupping, once again fidgeting with his hands and tugging at his sleeves. Patrick could describe this best as one of Pete’s depressive manic episodes. Although he hadn’t been around for many of them, he recognized all the “symptoms” Pete had during and after. The fidgeting, the yelling, the sudden switch in emotion - anger to apologetic, to self-loathing to sad. It must be absolutely exhausting for Pete. He had no way of helping him. It made him feel useless.

Pete reached behind him for Patrick’s arms, pulling them forward to loop around his chest and sighing contentedly. He laid one tattooed hand on top of Patrick’s hands, leaning back into Patrick’s warmth and familiarity. Pete could smell the shower soap from Patrick’s hands, almost lulling him into sleep. His attraction for Patrick was heady and knew no bounds - even Pete didn’t know bound(arie)s. His need to be tactile was what immediately drew him to Patrick. Soft, young, blond and naive. It could have been predatory at the time, but Pete couldn’t care less. He was in the arms of Patrick Stumph. Nothing else mattered to him in this moment.

Patrick removed a hand from his interlocked position on Pete’s chest and started sifting through Pete’s locks of hair. Greasy, yet undeniably Pete. He liked that about him, although he’d need to convince him to shower. Pete hummed, content. Patrick couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like, this exact position, but under a different label than “friends”. He always felt he was out of Pete’s league. That’s what excited him, and caused his heart to jump. The unfamiliarity of the situation. Pete excited him.

“Hey, Patrick?” He hummed in response to Pete’s questioning tone, “Why’s your heart pounding?”

That question caught him completely and utterly off-guard. He turned red, absolutely hating his pale skin tone. His flush went all the way through his face to his neck and shoulders. “I-, I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, Pete.”

“Don’t bullshit me. It feels like Hurley’s going fuckin’ insane on a drum set in your chest right now.” His tone was serious.

Pete turned in his position, almost practically sitting on Patrick. Knowing fully-well that he could see every detail of Pete’s face, it meant that Pete could see the pink flush of his cheeks. He suddenly despised the closeness between them, yet wanted the image of Pete slightly wetting his lower lip with his tongue tattooed into the back of his eyelids. Pete was staring into Patrick’s eyes with such chilling emotion that Patrick could _swear_ he felt something for him.

“It’s ok, Patrick.” His face softens into a smile as he takes Patrick’s wrist in his hand and places it over his heart. It’s pounding too. His face breaks into the Wentz grin once more. “Is the talking over? Because you promised me some action.”

“Fuck, you’re an asshole.” He punches Pete lightly and his whole body physically relaxes. Though the words are hash, Patrick’s voice is laced with affection, and it’s enough to assure Pete that he’s kidding.

With a smirk that is going in Patrick’s spank bank, Pete scoots close to Patrick and seals their lips together, wrapping his legs around Patrick’s waist as best as he could, given Patrick was sitting against a wall. They both got lost in the feeling of each other, desperately trying to explore the body mirroring theirs. Pulling back for breath, Pete tugs on Patrick’s shirt.

“Off?” He’s panting and clearly in no mood to communicate properly. So despite Patrick’s crippling insecurities, he complies and takes off his shirt, placing it on the bed and crossing his arms over his chest.

Pete takes the shirt in his hand and chucks the shirt on the ground and out of sight. “It was ugly anyways. Like you better like this. I want you to want me,” He traces the light sprinkling of freckles on Patrick’s shoulder, trying to get him out of his tense mood. “Never knew you had freckles.”

Patrick shrugged, trying to ignore the attention that was being put on his body, “Nobody needed to know.”

“You’re my own fucking constellation of stars, and you’ve got constellations on your skin. Incredible.” Pete attaches his mouth to the joint of Patrick’s neck and shoulder, biting and sucking while caressing the jean-clad inside of his thigh, breaking Patrick’s arms apart. He didn’t want to admit it, but Pete Wentz was good at fucking him up. He was already half-hard with barely any touches. Pete was intent on getting his own satisfaction out of this. He finally had what he’d wanted for years and he wasn’t letting go.

Patrick put a hand through the nape of Pete’s hair, forcing him to stop and look at him. Pete’s eyes were glazed, and, surprisingly, he was already sporting a boner.

“Take your dumb sweater off.” Patrick says, trying to force the stupid thing off of Pete. It was getting in the way of him and admiring Pete. Pete struggled with the piece of clothing, despite being known as a Sex God of sorts, he was clumsy and Patrick was completely fucking smitten.

Pete looked at Patrick, complete lust radiating from every bone and pore in his body. He wanted him. He wanted him now. He pounced on Patrick, pinning him to the bed (accidentally bumping Patrick’s head, resulting in an “Ow! Fucking asshole!”) and straddling him, nothing but jeans separating them from complete bliss

Pete is immediately on Patrick, grinding against his jeans, pushing their lips together as if they hunger for this. They need this.

Starved touches is the best way Pete can describe what he’s feeling. He’s been deprived his entire life, and now that he has it, he doesn’t know where to begin. Patrick’s voice pipes up from underneath him, catching him off-guard.

“Seven minutes left, Pete. What’s it gonna be? You’re in complete control of how this turns out,” He bites his lip, enticing Pete to just Get To The Fucking Point.

“Blow me.” The words leave Pete’s mouth before he can even register them, and Patrick is happy to comply. Crawling out from underneath Pete, he pushes him onto his back and undoes his belt and zipper, pulling down his jeans and boxers. Patrick is face-to-face with a dick. Deciding to be a cocktease, he traces around Pete’s dick with his tongue, sucking just underneath his bartskull tattoo, leaving a hickey. Patrick’s property. He looks up, and Pete is biting on his own hand, eyes shut. If Pete didn’t want to moan, Patrick would have to make him.

Assessing the situation, he gives Pete’s dick one (1) good jack, positions his hand at the base and deepthroats his entire length. Pete’s thighs stiffen, and Patrick starts stroking the inside of his thighs, trying to get any type of _noise_ out of the dude he was blowing.

He didn’t know much about blowjobs, considering he’d only given below five in his life, but he was willing to bet his entire guitar collection on the single fact that he could make Pete moan with his limited cocksucking skills. He’d been told he had blowjob lips. By Pete. Kinda ironic.

He circled his tongue around the head and Pete groaned, visibly tensing all his muscles. Patrick continued, only focusing on the head of the dick until Pete finally snapped, fisting a hand in the bedsheets while the other was grasping Patrick’s hair, forcing him to go deeper.

Patrick could honestly say that Pete was a mess. The man he had once looked up to as a god of sorts was now below Patrick, with his dick in Patrick’s mouth, moaning at the hands of Patrick. The entire situation was slightly mindblowing.

Pete felt Patricks head come up, the warmth of his mouth leaving his cock exposed to the cold air. Patrick hesitated for a moment before glancing up at Pete through his bangs and eyelashes.

“Are you okay? Was-was that too rough? Patrick, baby, you don't-”

Pete was cut off by Patricks hand wrapping around him again. He lazily stroked once or twice, stalling for a moment before he stopped completely. Brushing his bangs out of his eyes with his free hand, he shifted closer to Petes body, a tension thickening in the sweltering air of the bunk.

“If I-if I asked you to fuck me, would you do it? I just-I need this, Pete. I need this. And I-I know that this is about you right now but- _please?_ ”

Pete was too busy thinking about how gorgeous Patrick would look underneath him to respond, but eventually he came back to the baby blue eyes looking at him and remembered to respond.

“Is that what you want? Because I swear, Patrick-I _swear_ -if you're fucking with me-”

“I want you. I _need_ you.”

That was more than enough confirmation for Pete. He hopped off the bed in search for condoms and lube. His pants were still around his ankles, and Patrick mused the fact that he looked like a penguin, as he was waddling from side to side.

“Pete?” He asked for his attention.

“Yes?”

“I want you _now_.”

Pete looks through his duffel bag frantically and steals a look at Patrick. He was the image of perfection. Swollen red lips standing stark against his pale face, hair gleaming in the dim light, thighs slightly spread to reveal a flushed cock. _Fuck, Pete wanted. And he wanted bad_.

Patrick sat on the bed alone, and laid back onto Pete’s pillow. He’d wanted this physical and emotional contact with Pete since he realised he had feelings, yet he still had to know what getting into a relationship with Pete meant, if it went that way afterwards. He loved Pete, truly, but committing might prove to be too much at some point. However, if he’s stuck with Pete this long, he’s sure he can do anything.

Pete hops back onto the bed. “Ready?” He asks.

Patrick nods. “Always, Pete.”

Pete nods back and uncaps the lube. “Lift your ass off the bed.” Patrick complies and Pete shoves his pillow underneath Patrick. “I’m not sure how many times you’ve done this, or if you’ve done it at all, but this makes it more comfortable for you.” Patrick nods in anticipation. “If it’s uncomfortable, tell me to stop, babe.”

Patrick blushes at the mention of the pet-name, despite all the other acts they’ve engaged in, that’s what catches Patrick - the affection Pete’s giving him.

As Pete lubes up a finger, preparing to stretch Patrick, he kisses his knee, taking a gentle hold of Patrick’s calf as he gently eases his finger in and Patrick groans. Whether it was out of shock or pleasure, he wasn’t sure. He enjoyed it.

One finger quickly became three and Patrick was a moaning mess on the sheets, Pete jabbing his prostate relentlessly and providing no other much-needed stimulation to Patrick’s body. Patrick was sighing and groaning into the empty space between the both of them, fisting the sheets and tossing his head from side to side in utter satisfaction. His hair was a golden halo surrounding his blissed-out face, his tightly shut eyes and bitten lip.

Pete retracts his fingers and Patrick is left lying there, heaving chest and mouth full of words he can’t even begin to put together.

He looks up and notices Pete about to tear the foil of a condom. “Pete?”

“Yeah, angel?”

“Can we- can we not use a condom? I mean, if it’s okay with you I was just wondering…” He trailed off, clearly embarrassed. “I just- I want to feel you, y’know?”

Pete gasps like he’s had all the breath knocked out of him and stares at Patrick with an awed expression. “Yeah- Yeah! Of course,” He chucks the condom over his shoulder and lubes up his dick, Patrick watching intently.

Pete positions himself between Patrick’s spread legs, one hand next to his lover’s face. He was looking down at Patrick. He wanted to capture every expression on his beautiful face. He loved everything about Patrick, his slightly crooked nose, his mole, his thin hair, his full cheeks and those soft lips.

“Ready?” Pete asks. Patrick nods frantically, eyes shut in anticipation.

When Pete pushes in, Patrick groans in pain. “Fuck.” He exclaims blunty, opening his eyes. “I expected it to hurt less.” It felt like a thick rod was being shoved up his ass. Essentially, that’s what a dick was anyways so he had no reason to doubt the pain he was feeling.

“Sorry, you’ll get used to it. Let me know when I can move.” He kisses Patrick’s cheek and smiles.

Patrick had to get adjusted to the feeling of Pete being inside of him. He told Pete to move, as he did, bottoming out. Never did he expect Pete to be this… gentle. When it came to sex, he imagined Pete as some rough boy who never backed down from rough sex. It was surprising to Patrick how sweet and considerate of his feelings he was. This, as Patrick didn’t figure out, was because Pete wanted Patrick to have the best time with him possible before he eventually decided he didn’t want to be part of Pete’s fucked up mind anymore, thus abandoning him.

Pete dropped his forehead onto Patrick’s, aligning their noses as he suddenly goes still. He found himself just staring down in absolute awe at Patrick below him.

“This has been worth every moment of waiting. You-you have been worth every moment of-of waiting.” Pete chuckled out a slightly disbelieving sigh, examining his lover from above. “You are worth all of this and more.”

“I love you.” Patrick breathed out. “No backing out, I’m in this for the long run if you are, Pete. I want to be there for you, always. No more four am insomnia induced anxiety attacks where you have to ride it out alone. I’m here to stay.” He locks his legs around Pete’s hips.

“I love you too, Patrick.”

Pete grinned as his teeth found the soft flesh of Patricks neck, teasing lightly and sinking slightly into the salty slicked skin. Pete slowly stirred his hips, evoking a drawn out groan from Patrick, his thighs squeezing Petes hips and his nails scraping gently down Petes shoulder blades.

Pete pulled his dick out of Patrick little by little, forcing the younger to whine at the loss of the sensation. Pete’s mouth found a sickeningly soft spot, his lips eager to leave a mark, and it was only moments before Pete began to suck a bruise on Patricks pale skin.

Pete didn't want this to be over so quickly, so he repeated the same process three or four times, littering marks across the skin only he could see.

Pete lined himself up again, just barely teasing Patrick with the head of his cock, listening to him whine and feeling the goosebumps ripple across his skin. Pete anchored a steady hand on Patricks hip when he began to grind down against Pete, desperately searching for any type of friction, slamming his length the entire way in again with brutal force that made Patrick squeal and moan in surprise all at once. Pete continued the thrusting, aiming higher and searching for Patrick’s prostate. He kissed Patrick with brute force, a mess of teeth and tongue and lips getting in the way from it being a proper kiss, but neither of them could care.

“P-Pete, ah! Fuck, harder, pleasepleasepleasepleas-” Patrick’s words were tumbling out of his mouth in a high pitched tone, absolutely begging for Pete to just give it to him. Which he did. He relentlessly pounded Patrick’s ass with absolutely no mercy. He could feel Patrick’s nails almost drawing blood, scratching lines down his back as he moaned his complete appraisal towards Pete in high-pitched begging whines, getting more frequent the faster he went.

“I’m close, ‘Trick,” Pete groaned in his ear, placing a hand on Patrick’s dick and stroking it to the time of his thrusts. “Come for me, baby,”

Patrick lost all semblance of control as he moaned and gasped out his orgasm, nothing but Pete’s name leaving his lips in the form of a contorted prayer.

****

There was no talk of their encounter the day after. They resumed their usual schedules, having no time to talk to each other.

The next night, Pete stepped up to Patrick on stage and whispered his lyrics alongside the blond’s singing. Patrick shifted away for a moment, looking at Pete annoyed and resumed his normal posture behind the microphone stand. The movement was subtle. Patrick physically recoiled from Pete, instead of leaning into him like usual. Brushing it off, he bounds back to his side of the stage and tried to ignore how hurt he felt. Stabilising his emotions so they wouldn’t show on his face, he continued to pluck the strings of his bass and tried to ignore how heavy his heart felt.

The show continued as normal, with Pete jumping off of whatever elevation was available and Joe spinning in circles. The audience yelled out the lyrics and clapped at the end. The four men walked off stage with grins, high on the energy from the show. Whereas they’d usually congratulate each other on their performance and share a beer, Patrick made a beeline for his dressing room. Pete noticed the way he quickly shuffled off from the band without a word. Pete smiled at Joe and Andy, clapped them on the back and walked after his friend.

Timidly, Pete raised a closed fist to knock on the door. He raps his knuckles against the wood twice and waits for the sound of a lock clicking open. Stood with his arms folded, he pondered the possibilities of Patrick’s actions. Was he already disgusted by him? He didn’t want to think.

“Pete.” The door creaks open and Patrick is standing in the doorway, towelling off his sweat and changing. Pete would have expected Patrick to invite him in, however he didn’t. He stood blocking the door, watching him with icy blue eyes, watching every sign given that Pete was becoming increasingly nervous. The darting eyes and fidgeting hands. Hand to the nape of the neck. Pete felt like he was being dissected.

“Can I come in?” He pleads with him, earning a scoff in response.

“Fine,” Patrick opens the door for Pete and sits down on a couch, drinking from a water bottle. Pete closed the door behind him, not bothering to flip the lock.

“You seemed… _off_ , when you were on stage. And today in general. We’ve been ignoring each other.” Pete pointed out, leaning against a wall. Patrick gestured in a circular motion, prompting the older man to continue with his observations. “I… I don’t know. Has something changed, like, between us?” Pete queried, almost begging Patrick to say: _”No, we’re fine, sorry for worrying you Pete,”_ The response he received was quite different.

“We shouldn’t have had sex.” The bluntness of Patrick’s words almost knock all the air out of Pete’s lungs. “It was childish, Pete. I expect you to move on to the next best thing sooner or later, whether she comes up to you in a bar or after a concert. There’s always someone else you want and accepting that will be easier for the both of us to move past…. last night.” His voice filled with regret and a determination to believe his own words.

“What makes you say that?” Pete asked, his mind racing with ways to convince Patrick that everyone else was just a distraction from the one he really wanted. The one he’d always wanted.

Seemingly genuinely surprised, he laughs bitterly. “Here we are, Pete Wentz, former god and scene king of Chicago, trying to have me.” He shakes his head, “go and find someone better than me, someone who actually deserves your love.”

“What the fuck are you on about, Patrick?”

“Wanting the chubby singer of your band, just because I’m convenient and always there. Don’t even try and kid yourself, because it’s not fooling me.”

Pete instantly softened.

“Y-you genuinely think I wanted- _want_ you because of con- _convenience_?” Now Pete’s laughing, loud and braying. He pushes himself off the wall and moves to kneel down in front of Patrick, taking on a more serious tone. “Patrick, you know why I want you? And only you, no one else.” He manages to maintain eye contact, threading his fingers in with Patrick’s.

“Pete, I-”

“Patrick, it’s my turn to speak. Please just let me talk.” Inhaling, he closes his eyes as Patrick nods.

“I've never been keen on the idea of falling in love. I think it's naïve and stupid, because I always get hurt. I've always found myself running from it. But you- God- with you? I've watched you grow up into this breathtaking man. I've watched you grow up into a compassionate and kind person. I've watched you grow up and I can't wait to experience every new day with you by my side. And I know how naïve and stupid I sound. I _know_ it shouldn't make sense, it honestly doesn't make sense, but I've grown to love you more than anything. I love you more than anything, ‘Trick. I know that you're you and I'm me, but last night we were us for the first time and you-you told me that you loved me too. You told me that you love me too. And you can kick and scream as much as you want, but you told me that you love me too. So, please, let's be stupid and naïve together. I want you, Patrick. And I want you to want me too.”

As Pete rambled on, Patrick started paying more attention to the man knelt in front of him. His eyes slowly grew wider as the impact of Pete’s words sunk in. Patrick grew teary-eyed, trying not to cry.

“Pete, I’m…” He trailed off, trying to mentally string together a sentence that would describe all his emotions and feelings for Pete in a single sentence. It’s near impossible, but he inhales with a shaky breath and tries again.

“Pete, I’m sorry.” He kneels down on the floor next to Pete, throwing his arms around his neck and shoving his face in his friend’s shoulder brutally. “I’m sorry for doubting you. And us.”

Pete returned the hug with just as much fervour, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s waist tightly.

“We can always try again, ‘Trick.” He strokes Patrick’s hair.

“Yeah. For you, always.”

They sat on the floor embraced in each other’s arms until Joe walked in, Andy following.

“So, If I ever hear noises from either of your bunks, I should definitely stay out of it?"

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for making it this far! i haven't tried to write for enjoyment since 2016 so i hope i'm not too rusty


End file.
